


Heroics And Haggis

by FinnScathach



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Comics, Gen, M/M, Sheep, bagpipes, everybody lives and nothing is awful, fight me cassandra clare, george is a perfect scottish angel, guest appearance from simon 2.0 the frog, haggis, i couldn't forget the frog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5232335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinnScathach/pseuds/FinnScathach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon finally admits that he's interested in George 'romantic-styles', and the two of them decide that Ascending seems like more trouble than it's worth. So they run away to Scotland and keep sheep and Simon takes up the bagpipes and everything is fine, nobody dies, it's all chill and cute and gay</p><p>aka fight me Cassie Clare, I'm not okay about Angels Twice Descending</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about having them both Ascend and be all cool and Shadowhuntery together, and then decided I liked them as mundanes, so this happened. I'm in denial. Nobody is dead.

“You’re right,” said Simon. “I do have plenty of best friends.”

George’s face fell, as if he’d been hoping for a different response. “It’s fine,” he said. “I know that you have – a life outside this room.”

“George,” he said, “You’re not my best friend because I think I…” Okay, this wasn’t something he knew how to say. “There’s a possibility I might be interested in you. Romantic-styles.”

His roommate looked seriously at him. “Are you going to pull a no-homo on me in a moment? Because that is kind of your style.”

Simon shrugged, uncomfortable. “I know. And I'm sorry. I ...”

“You were in denial of how gorgeous this Scottish body is? You've finally given in to the charms of my accent? Jace hasn't been paying you enough attention lately and you're finally casting your eye on your other options?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, you were clearly interested in him. I mean, I get it, he's super hot. Like, god among angels, you know?”

“No, you don't understand. I'm not ... I'm not gay.”

George looked incredulous. “Keep telling yourself that,” he said. “I’ve been sharing a room with you for two years, Lewis, and I’m not blind. Word reached me – and perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you this, in case I was told a lie – that you once said I was more attractive than Jace. In fact, I think the exact words you used to describe me were ‘a perfect Scottish angel’. Now, this was only a rumour, but…”

Simon blushed. He couldn't believe he'd actually said that. If he could lose his memories again, that would be one that he'd happily give up. “Okay,” he said. “I might have said that. And I meant it.”

“Awesome,” said George.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m gay.”

“Why are you so afraid of admitting that? You used to be a vampire. As far as identity crises go, this should be a fairly minor one.”

“But,” began Simon, before reconsidering. Why _was_ he so adamant about that? “Okay, fine, maybe. I don’t know, okay? I’m confused.”

“Some things never change,” said George. “So now what?”

“What?”

“Now what do we do? We're about to go and Ascend, and we have to pick names -- well, you do, I'm a Lovelace through and through -- and they might not like it if we suddenly declare this. Plus, Izzy.”

“I didn't think of that.” Simon wasn't thinking at all. He wasn’t even sure he should have mentioned this, except that George looked so disappointed about not being Simon’s best friend; it’s not like anything could happen now, could it? He wasn’t gay. He just liked George. They’d been roommates for two years, it was understandable…

 _Denial, Simon,_ he said to himself. _This is what denial looks like._

“Well, in the absence of brilliant ideas from you, I suggest we keep it cool,” said George. “I maintain the belief that Ascending will make us even more beautiful than before, and people will be struggling to come to terms with that. It would break their hearts to know that we weren’t available as ready objects of their worship.”

Simon was hardly listening. “There’s something else I need to say,” he admitted. “Because there haven’t been enough of the earth-shattering revelations already today, so I thought I'd add another one. In case this is the last chance I get.”

“Go ahead.” George reclined on the bed, and then leaped up in disgust. “Ugh. I think there's somehow ANOTHER rat in my bed. How can there be a rat in my bed, Simon? How can this be? I feel like I'm being punished for a crime I don't remember committing.”

Simon and George took a moment to deal with the rat, and then Simon plucked up his courage again and said, “I'm scared to Ascend.”

“We all are.”

“But like, really scared. I'm not sure I want to do it. I know Izzy won't love me if I don't, and I'll have to run away and become a hobo in New York or something, and Mom will think I got chucked out of the army, but I'm really scared.”

“You don't have to be scared. You'll be fine.”

“Will I? What if the Cup can tell that I used to be a vampire and decides I'm not worthy because of my Downworlder blood?”

“It's more likely to think you're more worthy. I mean, come on, you've already been several different species. I believe you were even a rat for a while.” The two of them regarded the latest rat corpse on the floor, and Simon had to admit that it didn't strike him as the high point of his life. “So your body already knows how to transform. You'll be fine. Me, on the other hand...”

“Don't say that.”

“I haven't said anything yet?”

“You're clearly built to be a Shadowhunter. You've got the looks.”

“And that's about it for my credentials.” George smiled, a lopsided, rueful smile. “We don't have to do it, you know. They're not going to stop us if we decide to make a run for it.”

“You think we should?”

“I don't know. What do you think? Want to risk your life and potentially have to drink actual blood out of a weird Cup thing?”

“What else would we do?” Simon looked around at the room. Two years in this dank, slimy dungeon. Two years of horrendous food. Even the training wasn't as bad as that. At least he's strong now – the custard, on the other hand, had not made any substantial contribution to his life. “I mean, do you think we should keep sheep for the rest of our lives?”

“I'll keep the sheep,” said George, “and you can write comics about them. Then we'll have a prosperous sheep-comic business, and people will come to see us all the way in Scotland--”

“Who said we were going to Scotland?”

“I followed you into a slime-filled basement for two years, Simon, I think it’s my turn to pick the destination. And we're going home.”

Simon grinned. “Okay, so Scotland. And sheep. And comics. What about my band?”

“It isn't as though you can rejoin your band even if you Ascend. I mean, you could try and convince Jace to start one with you, but I'm not sure he knows how to play anything other than the heartstrings of all the girls around him.”

“You're a fine one to talk,” he retorted, and then added, “or so I've been told.”

“Hey, there's no need for that any more. You already said you were interested in me, right? No need to pull that 'so I've been told' thing whenever it comes to my manly virtues.” George, now assured that his bed was rat-free, lay back on it again. His t-shirt was full of holes, and Simon could barely make out the slogan. He only knew it was one of his because he'd seen it so many times.

“You're wearing my shirt.”

“We're practically married already,” agreed George.

“Wait, who said anything about marriage?”

“I was joking, Si.” Then his roommate's grin faded. “Though, you know, it's a possibility...”

“Whoa. Moving too fast, bro.”

“Don’t ‘bro’ me.” George’s grin returned. “I’m glad you finally found the courage to admit your latent attraction to me. I know it’s been there all along. _I can tell_.” He added this last phrase in an undertone, waggling his eyebrows. Simon threw a pillow at him, knocking down a cobweb and dislodging a small frog in the process.

George shrieked. “I knew there were frogs in here! I knew it! They’ve been hiding, all this time, waiting for the best moment to attack – and they had to pick _now_! I would have been perfectly happy leaving this room and never having seen one, but no, they had to ruin even that beautiful dream.” In his flailing, he somehow managed to catapult the frog over to Simon’s bed, and he caught it neatly in his cupped hands. The creature wasn’t very big.

“I thought you were planning to befriend the frogs,” he said doubtfully. “Name one of them after me.”

“Well, I won’t need to at this rate.”

Simon 2.0 looked up at original!Simon balefully. He put his hand to the ground and allowed it to hop away, back into whatever dark corner it had come from. “You were serious, weren’t you?”

“About naming the frog after you? I’m not sure. That depends how heartbroken I am.”

“About running away. Not Ascending.”

“Oh.” George considered the question. “Yes,” he said eventually. “I was.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon talks to Izzy and Clary about the change of plan and they, being way too awesome for words, take it much better than expected.

“I'll love you even if you stay a mundane,” said Izzy, and Simon supposed he ought to have been glad about that. But really, this would have been much easier if she'd just rejected him outright, and then he could have moped around being angsty. George would have been there to commiserate, and then he'd have had an excuse for what he was about to say next.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” she responded. “Wow, romantic.”

“Okay,” he repeated, “but would you still love me if I stayed a mundane and ran away to Scotland to keep sheep with George?” The words spilled out in a rush, one after the other, and she just stared at him for so long that he began to wonder if what he'd said had even been comprehensible. “Because that looks like the plan. Keeping sheep, that is. And maybe staying mundanes. We're just not feeling the whole possible-death thing. We'd really like to stay quite a long way away from it. I know you're like, the possible-death kind of person, and I know you spend every day chasing it because you're terrifying like that, but honestly, neither of us is looking forward to the idea. Apparently it's horrible. If people die when they Ascend, it's really gruesome and bloody. I don't want to turn to mush, Izzy.”

She was still staring at him. “You're going to run away with George?”

“Yes. I mean, maybe. We haven't exactly booked flights yet, or arranged Portals or whatever.”

“I didn't realise that was even an option.”

“Neither did I until this morning.” Simon pulled awkwardly at his t-shirt. Under strain from his new muscles, destroyed by the weird magical churn that passed for a washing machine in this place, and generally worn out, the hem gave way under his tug, and ripped. He looked down at it, but couldn't bring himself to care enoguh about it to swear or otherwise voice his annoyance. “Look, I know, you weren't expecting this, but...”

“I thought if you stayed a mundane, you'd at least be in New York. You don't have to go to Scotland. No one's going t obe hunting you down. Have you ever even seen a sheep for real? You're a city boy! Do you know what sheep are like? They smell, and they're fluffy and weird and---”

“Izzy,” he said, “I know what a sheep is like.”

“I'm not coming to Scotland,” she said. “I'm sorry, I love you, but I'm not.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath. “And I think it's better this way. I'm going with George because... because I want to. I want to be with him.”

“He's your roommate, I get it. You've got used to each other.” She was still looking at him like he was some weird specimen, a creature she'd never seen before.

“No,” he said. “Not like that.”

“Oh. Oh?” Isabelle stared. “No, Simon. Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“You're gonna have one of your mundie friends jump out with a camera at some point and tell me I've been -- I've been punked or something. Aren't you? You're trying to play a trick on me?”

“I love how much you've learned about the mundane world,” he said wistfully, and just for a second he regretted the decision he'd come to. “But nope. Nobody's got a camera, that I know of. It's just us. And I'm trying to be honest with you. I haven't even been honest with myself lately, and after two years in a room full of slime, you'd think I'd know better than to be afraid of telling the truth. I realise--” He broke off. “I realise I should probably be afraid of you, but that's an entirely different question.”

“I'm not going to attack you just because you're apparently breaking up with me to run away to Scotland with your roommate who now seems to be your boyfriend,” she said, and then looked like she was reconsidering. “Actually, when you put it like that...”

“George isn't my boyfriend,” said Simon. “Yet. I don't know. It's all very confusing, okay? But we're thinking of keeping sheep. Because it would be ... relaxing. And non-lethal. And lacking in demons and weird Cups and I'm scared of dying, Izzy, I'm so scared of dying.”

“You'll never get your memories back if you don't Ascend.”

“I don't think I want them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was a vampire, right? Which means I died. Which means somewhere in my memories, there's that. I actually died, and I don't want that in my head. I'm scared. I'm so scared.” He was even shaking, which was stupid, because he didn't want her to think he was freaking out about this when inside he was, he really really was. “Look I just...”

“It's okay,” she said. “I get it. You don't want to Ascend. I just wish you'd told me about the other stuff sooner.” She got up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to think about this for a while, okay? I need to -- I need to come to terms with whatever it is you've just told me. To make sense of it.” She attempted a smile. “This isn't me going to gear up to kick your ass, but it might be if I don't like what I think, so just be ready.”

“Right.” Simon swallowed. He was definitely making a mistake. Izzy pissed off would be at least as terrifying as the Mortal Cup, wouldn't it?

Just as he was about to get up and run after her -- say that he'd changed his mind, beg her to come back and stay with him forever, he wasn't even sure what -- the door opened again, and Clary came in. “So,” she said. “I just saw Isabelle in the corridor, and she told me something very interesting.”

“Oh, shit,” said Simon.

“Is it true? You're going to Scotland with George instead of Ascending? You don't want to be parabatai?”

“Look,” he said, “it isn't you. It really isn't. I would love to be your parabatai. But I just don't think I'm cut out for the Shadowhunter life.”

Clary nodded. “Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay. I'm your best friend, it's my job to support you.”

“Oh.”

“Even when I think you’re making bizarre life choices, because you might not be a born Shadowhunter, but you’ve at least _trained_ for that. Do you know anything about sheep?”

“George knows enough for the both of us,” Simon offered, and then grinned. “He says he’ll do the work and I’ll draw comics about sheep. I’m not sure whether I’d be able to think of any plots, but who knows? Maybe I’ll find them a fount of inspiration.”

She returned the smile, because of course she did. She was Clary, and however terrible his jokes or life choices were, she’d always be there. “So you’re really doing this.”

“I think so.”

“Even though you’ve spent two years of your life working towards Ascension.”

“Yup.”

“Even though you’ve always been adamant that you’re straight.”

“Just because I’m running away with George doesn’t mean I’m in love with him,” Simon retorts, way too quickly.

“But you like him,” says Clary. “I can _tell_. And I’m happy for you. I’m mad, because of Izzy, but I’ve been betting on you guys getting together for months. I didn’t think it would take so long.”

“You have?”

“You said he was hotter than Jace. Jace whose blood you drank. Jace who you remembered even when you forgot everything else because you ‘rolled around in the bottom of a boat’.” Her grin is so infuriating and so familiar. “Clearly you like him. Enough to brave the sheep and the Scottish.”

“Okay,” he said, relenting. “Maybe I do.”

“What about the band? Are you gonna keep that going from across the pond?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take up the bagpipes.”

Clary considered the idea and nodded. “That way we’d probably be able to hear you from here without having to pay for a plane ticket.”

He punched her arm. “Bagpipes can be magnificent.”

“I’m pretty sure with you playing them they’d be less magnificent and more maleficent. But at least you wouldn’t get too many demon attacks. They’d be too scared of the noise.”

“Your disbelief wounds me.”

“I do believe in you,” said Clary. “Maybe not in your bagpiping skills, but I believe that if you think this is the right decision to make, then it is. And I’ll come and visit you whenever I can. I’ve always sort of wanted to see Scotland.”

Simon smiled slightly. “So I’m not losing you? Even though I’m being an idiot and turning down the opportunity to be your parabatai because you’re my best friend and clearly this is meant to be?”

“Of course you’re not losing me,” she said. “And yeah, you’re an idiot, but I know you, and I know you wouldn’t do this unless you thought it was right.”

“It’s possible you have too much faith in me,” said Simon, reconsidering. “I did once drink a warlock drink and get turned into a rat.”

“We all make mistakes,” said Clary, grinning. “And I swear if you back down on your word because of me, I’ll get Magnus to turn you into one all over again. Then George will kill you and add you to what looks like a small graveyard of rat corpses in the corner of your room. You know that’s seriously disgusting, don’t you?”

“I’m all too aware.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Right. Better go and break the word to the others, then. Jace is never going to let me live this one down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I doing with my life? Who knows. Find me on Tumblr: donn-nimhe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unsettling conversation with Jace, Simon has something to ask Alec about the life he doesn't remember...

Simon had known this would be awkward, but all the versions inside his head didn't compare to actually standing here in front of Alec, trying to make the words leave his mouth. There was no way this would not sound weird. “Alec,” he began. Good start. Solid opening, remembering the name of the person he was speaking to. This was going well.

“Simon,” said Alec, looking slightly confused as to why he was standing outside the door stammering like a third-grader in trouble for the first time. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't changed his t-shirt, and it was still ripped at the hem. He probably looked like a disaster. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to ask you ... something. I don't know. This is going to be weird. Can I come in?”

“Sure,” said Alec, stepping back. “But I'm on baby duty while Magnus is ... out. Just so that you know. Max should be asleep right now.”

He couldn't get used to Alec and Magnus having a child. Well, not that it was exactly _theirs_ , but it was still odd to see them with a bag of diapers or the small blue creature itself, all swaddled in their arms. _Babies._ Simon wasn’t the biggest fan, and while even he could see that Max was cute – once you got past the shock of the blue – he still found it weird for someone his age to have a child.

They stepped inside, and Alec took a moment to check that the baby was actually asleep before turning to Simon.

“What's up?” he said. “I mean, you don't exactly come to visit much. Something must be wrong.”

“It's about Jace,” said Simon.

“Is he being a dick? I can speak to him, if you want, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll listen.”

“It's not that. I was wondering... I wanted to know if anything ever happened between me and him.”

Alec just stared, and then started laughing. “What?”

“He keeps hinting, as though something might have done, and I can't work out if he's just messing with me or if there's something pretty major I've forgotten. Well, along with everything else I don't remember.”

“No way.”

“I never, like, drunkenly made out with him?”

“Before you lost your memory I never saw any sign of you being anything but straight,” Alec assured him, which was both a relief and also even more confusing, because where had all this come from? “Well, apart from the homoerotic blood drinking. You're sure he's not referring to that?”

“Pretty sure.” Though even his denial couldn’t extend far enough to consider that particular recollection as anything _but_ weirdly homoerotic. Man. There were so many clues that he’d missed.

“He's messing with you, Simon. Taking advantage of your memory loss to make you think you find him attractive, because he wants the whole world to think he's hot. Is that all you came to ask?”

“Basically.” Simon wasn't sure what to say next. He'd already told Jace about his plans to go to Scotland, and it was only after Jace reacted so ... weirdly that he thought he should probably talk to Alec about this. “Look, one of the others is going to tell you this soon, but I'm moving to Scotland. With George. I know Izzy's probably mad at me, and I'm really sorry for upsetting your sister, because I so don't deserve her. But Jace was just weird about it. Everyone else is so shocked and they keep asking questions, Clary thinks it's adorable, George just acts like it's been coming for a long time which is great for him but I'm really confused, and then Jace laughed as though it was totally amusing.”

“He's being an asshole, that's all.”

“But is he? Anyone would think he knew before I told him. He laughed and then he looked at me and said, “I'm glad you've come to terms with this, Si,” before laughing again, and he made some comment about bagpipes. I don't know.” He trailed off. “It sounds stupid now that I actually come to say it out loud, I admit.”

“If Jace knew, it's because he's ridiculously good at guessing that kind of thing.” Alec shrugged. There was something that looked suspiciously like a vomit stain on his shoulder, presumably a gift from baby Max. Simon decided not to point it out, since Alec inevitably already knew. “You can't tell what's going on inside his head. He's an odd one, man.” He frowned quizzically. “Why did you ask me? Why not ask Clary – or Jace?”

“I guess I figured if he was going to tell anyone, he’d tell you. You’re his parabatai. Plus, you don’t seem like the type to go along with the joke. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I asked the others.”

Alec’s lips quirked into a smile. “I missed an opportunity to change your perspective of me, then. I can be an asshole too if I’m trying.”

“Yeah, but Jace doesn’t even need to try. It’s his superpower.”

“I don’t blame you for being confused, Simon,” said Alec. I would be, in your position. I mean, I _was_ , in your position. Though I never ran away to Scotland.”

Max started to cry. Alec got up and picked up the small child, rocking it gently. Simon watched, a little uncomfortable. Babies, though. He was so not going to get used to this -- but hopefully, he'd never have to. “I guess,” he said. “I mean, you have a child. And a warlock boyfriend. You're kind of good at adapting to unexpected situations. What should I do?”

“Well, I assume if you’re running off to Scotland with your roommate, you’ve decided against Ascending,” said Alec. “Which gives you a slight advantage. No Shadowhunter bigots to deal with.”

“Right. Just ordinary human bigots.”

“Trust me when I say that's easier.” He smiled down at the baby. “Got a long way to go before they catch up with the rest of the world, I can tell you that. I'm not sure if I'll see the day, but maybe Max will.”

“Given that he's immortal, I'm guessing that's not so unlikely.” Simon bit his lip. He wasn't sure if you were supposed to mention the immortality / mortality thing to Alec. He'd heard from Clary what happened last time that issue came up. But Alec just nodded.

“Let's hope so. Unless the human race wipes itself out before then.”

Simon wasn’t sure what to say to that. It wasn’t like Alec to be so doom and gloomy, especially while holding a baby – that usually reduced all the Lightwoods to a soppy mess. “So you don’t think I’m making a terrible mistake? I mean, maybe I should have thought this through a bit more. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Most things can be undone,” said Alec. “So if you decide you hate Scotland, you can always come back. Some part of you decided to do this, so at least part of you is sure you want it. Maybe you should learn not to overthink things.”

“Thanks, Obi-Wan,” said Simon, and Alec just sort of _looked_ at him. “Your wisdom is greatly appreciated.”

“Glad I could help.” Alec shifted Max to his hip – it looked so natural that it was hard to believe he hadn’t always had a small, blue baby. “If I don’t see you again before you go…”

“Which you probably will, because I’m sure Clary’s going to make a big deal of it.”

“Right, but if I don’t, just… be kind to Izzy when you say goodbye, okay? There’s no need to be a dick about it when you break her heart.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And just ignore Jace. He’s being an asshole.”

“Nothing changes. I think. I mean, I don’t remember, so…”

Alec grinned. “You’ll have a great time in Scotland,” he said. “George will be a great friend. Or – whatever it is you want him to be. Best of luck with it.”

“Thanks.” Simon saluted, because that seemed like the least weird thing to do. How would he even hug Alec while he was holding Max? “I should have talked to you about this sooner. I just… panicked. Didn’t want to make things weird with your sister, since it was already kind of … precarious.”

“If you guys aren’t gonna be together, that’s fine. But you shouldn’t think that you don’t deserve her. You made Izzy happy, Simon. And I’m not saying that to guilt-trip you into staying. I just thought you ought to know.”

Simon turned to leave, then hesitated. “I’m sorry I don’t remember half the time we knew each other,” he said. “You seem like a pretty decent guy.”

“I have my moments,” said Alec, and for a moment the mischievous gleam in his eye made him look like Jace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are there enough Simon Forgets jokes? WHO KNOWS. Come and say hi on Tumblr! (donn-nimhe)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Simon discuss their plans.

"So?" said George, when Simon came in and kicked off his boots before flopping down onto the bed without even checking for creatures first. "Did it go that badly?"

"Actually, it went bizarrely well," he said. "Which leads me to believe something terrible is going to happen in the next two hours to ruin everything. I'm savouring the moment while I can, but..."

"Oh," said George. "Optimism at the ready, I can see."

"I just thought everyone would be at least doubtful. If not confused. But they're all so supportive, as if somehow they knew this was coming all along. Which makes me think I'm missing something. I mean, what is it that they know that I don't? I didn't think I was going to make this decision. I didn't even realise this was an option until, like, yesterday, and now everyone's cheering me on as though I've been planning it since childhood."

"They're your friends, Simon. It's their job to support you through your life choices, good and bad. I'm fairly sure they wouldn't still be here if they weren't prepared to overlook a few terrible ones."

"Ha, ha." He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. "Is it because their Shadowhunters? You know, life's too short to live it as somebody other than yourself so go forth and move to Scotland while you've got the chance? I don't like that either. The thought of them all dying while we're gone."

"It's fine," said George, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "We aren't going to die, and nor are they. And if they show any signs of it, we'll have Magnus Portal them to us, and we'll lock them in with the sheep."

"Really? You're going to lock Izzy up with the sheep? That won't end well."

"For Izzy?"

"For the sheep. She'd slaughter them."

George looked like he might be considering that idea. "Well, if we get fed up of them..."

Simon laughed slightly, and rolled onto his belly. He wouldn't miss this uncomfortable bed, but... "George, do you think this is a weird thing to do?"

"No. I was planning to go back to Britain anyway, and Scotland's not that far from London. The Institute isn't that great, though, and..."

"I don't mean the Scotland thing. I mean the us thing. I mean the whole I-might-not-be-straight thing, which is super weird to me."

"I know it's weird to you," said George, quietly. "I do. I get it. But it's not a big deal. It doesn't matter whether you're gay or bi or whatever. If you like me, you like me, and if you don't, then we're friends and roommates and that's all. We can still run away together in a totally platonic fashion, you know that? I'd run away with you as friends if you wanted me to."

"But you wanted me to..." Simon trails off. "I don't even know what I'm feeling. I like you, but I don't know why. And I don't know in what way. You're a perfect Scottish angel, George, I meant it when I said it. I'm just not sure I'm the saintly type, and whether this is really best for us."

"You'd better not be backing out of your decision now," said Izzy, standing in the doorway. She wasn't holding her whip at the ready and she only had one seraph blade in her belt, so Simon took that as a good sign. Maybe he'd live through this encounter after all. "Ascension is tomorrow, so you guys will have to get moving if you want to have gone before that happens. And I don't think you really want to face Jon Cartwright at this moment, do you?"

"How did you even get in here?" said George. "Are you a ninja? Si, is your ex-girlfriend a ninja?"

Izzy raised her eyebrows at the title. "Already your ex, then?"

"I -- yes -- I don't know," said Simon, stammering. "Look, Izzy, I'm sorry that this had to be so ... weird."

"Oh my God, Simon, shut up," she said. "It isn't that big a deal. Yeah, maybe I thought we'd stay together for a while. Hell, maybe we'd even one day be as sickening a couple as Clary and Jace. But if that isn't how things are, that isn't how they are. I'm not gonig to stick around moping because you've figured out your interests lie elsewhere. I respect myself too much for that."

"Right."

"Anyway. You're going to Scotland. I'm not sure I'll still be interested when you stink of sheep."

"You can come and visit."

"Simon, don't insult me." Izzy tossed him a small holdall. It was remarkably heavy.

"What's in here?"

"Weapons."

"Oh." Simon glanced nervously at her. "Are you challenging me to a duel? Because I'm better than I used to be but I'm not sure I could take you in a fight, you know..."

"Don't be an idiot. You're going away and we won't be there to protect you. Maybe you're not Ascending but if there are any demons hanging out among the sheep, you don't want to be defenceless. Those are the kind of weapons even a mundane can use. If nothing else, it ought to keep you fit."

"Everyone seems very fixated on the sheep," said George, who had been watching this exchange silently. "Though I have to admit, I can't blame there. They are the dominant feature of the landscape. There's actually pretty much nothing else around, unless you want to drive into town."

"Keep talking and I might just reconsider this," said Simon, but he didn't think he would. Whatever his reasons for doing this -- and he wasn't sure he knew -- he didn't think he was going to back down. Sure, running away from Ascension was the same whether he went to Brooklyn or to Scotland, but at the same time... well, if he was going to be a coward and a mundane, he'd do it properly. With sheep.

The sheep seemed to be playing an unexpectedly large role in all this, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.

Still. Too late now.

“So what next?”

“I guess I should probably tell Mom and Rebecca at some point. Well, not tell them the details, but tell them I’m leaving the country. Maybe they’ll visit us on vacation.”

George nodded. “Can you believe we’re leaving the Academy?”

“Nope. Not really. Figured by the time I left here I’d have at least a, I don’t know, a four-pack. You know, this figure isn’t built for six, but four seemed like a reasonable hope. But even all those press-ups couldn’t do it. I’m doomed. Doomed to scrawniness.”

“Sheep don’t usually fight back,” his roommate advised him. “So you should be fine.” He shoved a suitcase in Simon’s direction. “You’re meant to be packing, though.”

“Ehh.” Simon glanced over his clothes. Only a handful of them were worth keeping. One of them seemed to have been colonised by a whole family of mice so tiny he didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he evicted them; he decided not to mention this to George. “I guess. I’ll probably buy new stuff, though. I mean, most of this doesn’t fit me anymore.”

“Up to you.” George glanced at the clock. “I’m gonna go and find Magnus. Need to talk to him about Portals if we’re gonna leave before the Ascension ceremony.”

“Right.” Simon watched him go. So this was it, then. They were really doing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and say hi on Tumblr! (donn-nimhe)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive in Scotland. It's cold. There is beer.

Simon's first impression of Scotland? That it was cold. Way too cold.

Okay, so their room at the Academy had been pretty much perpetually freezing, except when it had decided to be boiling hot (rare, and occasionally not unwelcome). But this was a different kind of cold. This was a damp, wet chill. As though there was mist inside his clothes. He stared at George, and wondered if it was too late to step backwards into the Portal and go back to Idris. Tell them he'd changed his mind and wanted to Ascend and live somewhere that didn't seem to be trying to set the atmosphere for a ghost story. But after all this dithering, if the Cup had ever considered him worthy it'd probably have changed its mind, so he thought it was likely safest to stay here. Anyway, George didn't seem surprised. That was probably because George was wearing a huge thick sweater with runes knitted onto it (who the hell had made that for him? Could George _knit_? These were definitely questions that needed answering).

More urgent, though, was the realisation that he should definitely have brought a sweater.

Magnus nodded to them both. "Safe and sound in Scotland, like I promised." Then he winked, and was gone.

"Wait," said Simon. He wasn't sure what was meant to follow that. A thank-you? A message to take back to their friends, even though this wouldn't be the last time they saw each other? A desperate plea to improve the weather before they had to trudge through all this mist to find wherever it was they were meant to be living for the next however long? It didn't matter; Magnus hadn't exactly stuck around. He glanced at George. "So. This is Scotland."

"Land of my forefathers," he said, with a grin. "Or so I assume. I'm adopted, so there's really no way of knowing who my forefathers were. Possibly they were goblins."

"Are you kidding? You're way too attractive to be part goblin."

His ex-roommate grinned, and Simon realised what he'd said. Before he could retract it, George grabbed his hand and started pulling him through the fog. He could barely see his own feet, stumbling over what seemed like -- heather? Was that honest-to-God-or-the-Angel-or-whatever heather?

"Where are we?" he said.

"Well, Magnus, in all his benevolence, seems to have thought it amusing to leave us in the middle of a moor. Exactly which moor I've yet to determine. When we come out of it, I'll be able to find our way."

Oh. So they weren't just in Scotland, in the middle of nowhere, in the mist. They were also lost and, presumably, in the middle of nowhere. "Great," said Simon. "Glad to hear it. Do we have any food?"

"Did you pack any?"

"Where would I have got food from? I wasn't exactly going to take up the Academy's offer of a packed lunch. It might have still been alive."

"Well, then, no. We haven't got any food." George looked into the distance. "Is that a light?"

"It could be a beastie. Or a demon."

"It could. But it could also be a pub."

A pub. The idea was ... appealing. Well, more appealing than staying here forever, even though he wasn't sure he was ready to be exposed to real Scots. What if they could immediately tell he was some talentless American hack who had no idea what he was doing and had probably come here to die?

"We'll head that way, then," he said. "Right?"

"Think of it as training," George said, encouragingly. "We've done this kind of thing before. This isn't any different."

"Sure. No fairies to deal with, for a start, so that actually makes it easier."

"I knew you'd come round."

They started walking. It was true. There was nothing to be afraid of, even though Simon more than once felt his shoes disappearing into the squashy mud beneath their feet. "How is that we're both in the middle of a moor AND a bog?" he asked. "Does Scotland pride itself on combining the two?"

"When it rains, yes," said George. "Which presumably it has."

He never thought he'd miss the weather of Idris. They kept walking, occasionally extricating themselves from the embrace of the landscape, and the light grew brighter. It was definitely some kind of building, and hopefully a welcoming one, not a neglected farm with just a light left on to lure innocent travellers to their deaths at the hand of some weird Scottish serial killer. (Simon wasn't sure whether a Scottish serial killer was more or less threatening than an American one. They probably had a kilt. Again, he still wasn't sure of the effect that had on their terrifyingness.)

"It's a pub!" said George victoriously, and Simon craned his neck to see the sign of the place through the mist. Yup. It looked like it was. "Let's go. Come on. It's time to get warm and dry and possibly drunk."

"That sounds like it won't end badly." Simon followed his friend into the building, and was immediately assailed by a blast of hot air. A bunch of old men, and a few younger ones, looked up at them as they entered. Most of them returned their attention to the TV in the corner, but one of them seemed more interested.

"George?" he said. "George Lovelace?"

"Mack!" said George. "I'd no idea you'd be here. We're not far from home, then?"

"You lost?"

"A wee bit. Friend of our decided the middle of the moor was the right place to drop us off. We've been walking since then, and it's a chilly night."

"I'll say. Sit down, we'll get you a pint." The man, Mack -- that was such a Scottish name that Simon almost combusted -- glanced briefly at him. "So who's your friend?"

"This is Simon. I met him in training."

"With the army?" asked one of the other guys, and George glanced at him before nodding.

"Right. With the army."

But Mack winked. "Aye. Pleased to meet you, lad."

"Right," said Simon. "Yeah. I'm Simon. Lewis. Simon Lewis."

Damn. He'd never got the chance to choose a cool Shadowhunter name. He'd been thinking about them for ages. Clary suggested Daylighter, but he wasn't sure he wanted the reminder that he used to be a vampire with extra magical powers that he'd gained from drinking his friend's boyfriend's blood, because that seemed weird. He'd debated going for something awesome and nerdy like Skywalker, until the others pointed out that he'd always need to explain the joke. So he'd still been stuck for an answer.

"You're American?" said Mack.

"He's from New York," said George. "But he's living with me for a while."

"Ah, well, you'll find it a bit different around here. Where in New York?"

"Uh, Brooklyn," said Simon. He felt out of his depth, because everybody was so friendly. Even in the Shadowhunter bars where most people knew his name -- or at least, knew the names of the Lightwoods and Jace and therefore recognised him by extension -- he'd never found people so ready to start a conversation. Maybe that was a side-effect of living in the literal middle of nowhere. "Yeah. I ..."

He had nothing to say. George rescued him. "I'll get us something to drink," he said. "Wait, do you have any money?"

"Uh, Scottish money?" said Simon. "No. I've got, like, five bucks. That's all I've got on me."

"Crap."

"I'll cover you," said Mack. "'Til you can get to a cash machine."

"Thanks," George said. "It's been too long. We'll have to have a proper catch-up soon."

"Yeah. I heard you'd gone off. Taking after the ancestors, then?"

So he knew who George was. Or what he was. Well, legally, if not technically, "Not so much. Hence why we came back." George shrugged. "The fighting life's not for me. Found myself hankering after the sheep, and Simon followed."

"Ha!" Mack's laugh was a bark. "You'll not have to worry about sheep so much these days, lad. Your parents only went and sold the farm. They've downsized. Thought you weren't coming back for a while yet."

"You're kidding me."

"I'm not. They up and moved. They're down near Edinburgh now."

"Does this mean we're homeless?" said Simon quietly, and George shrugged.

"Temporarily. We'll find somewhere." He went over to the bar and returned with pints. "Besides, what does it matter? We're among friends for tonight."

"George Lovelace," said Simon seriously, "you have a habit of getting me into really deep shit, don't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any Scots want to come argue with me about syntax or accuracy, go ahead -- my trips to Scotland have been few and far between (and were mostly to cities, not moors). I'd appreciate all your comments :) Everyone else, come and find me on Tumblr! (donn-nimhe)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find somewhere to live, and Simon begins to have a crisis about what he said to George before they left the Academy. aka this chapter is just kind of cute and also a bit gay

“Well, it’s an apartment,” said Simon.

“It is. Or a flat, if you wanted to be more accurate about it.”

He glared at George, who looked contrite but didn’t apologise. “Allow me my Americanisms. I’m experiencing severe culture shock and I need them as a security blanket.”

“Well, then, it’s an apartment. And we can bake cookies and watch soccer. I’m not sure if they sell Pop-Tarts around here, but we can look.”

“Okay, you don’t have to go that far.” Simon walked around the small two-bedroom apartment. It was definitely an improvement on their room at the Academy. Then again, anything that wasn’t covered in slime would have been an improvement. The bar had been set pretty low. “Can we afford this place? I mean, in New York this would basically be a palace. Not a starter apartment.”

“Property prices are not that high in a town like this one,” George said.

“This is a _town_? I thought it was a village at the most. Maybe a hamlet. Is a hamlet smaller than a village?”

“I’m fairly sure that a hamlet is to do with rivers. Or possibly Shakespeare. But no, it’s a town. There’s a city in Wales that’s smaller than this, you know.”

“That’s it. Britain’s officially ridiculous.” Simon walked into the bathroom. It, too, was remarkably free of mould. He wondered if he’d miss the rats. “Two faucets. Why is that?”

George switched one of them on. “Hot,” he said. “Theoretically. And cold. Less theoretical.”

“I get _that_ ,” said Simon. “Why don’t you have a mixer like any normal person? Why are they separate?”

“Because Britain is officially ridiculous, and we Scots are no exception to that rule. I assure you that when we declare our independence we will replace all of the taps in accordance with the wishes and practices of more advanced people.”

“Taps,” repeated Simon. “Whatever. Okay. What else do I need to know about this place before we sign whatever agreement we have to sign to rent it?”

“Well,” George began, and hesitated.

“Is it haunted? I can deal with a few minor hauntings. Ghosts don’t scare me.”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then why the look of fear?”

“Our downstairs neighbour plays the bagpipes.”

His expression following this pronouncement suggested that George expected Simon to storm out, either to find another apartment or to return to the States. Maybe even Idris. Instead he just considered this for a minute, then shrugged. “How bad can it be? I’m from Brooklyn, I can sleep through anything.”

George shook his head. “Not through bagpipes you can’t. That’s why this place is so cheap. No one else wants to live here.”

“Come on. They can’t be that bad.”

“I promise you they are.”

“George, you’ve never lied to me,” said Simon, abandoning the weird faucets of the bathroom and returning to the bedroom, where he bounced on the bed and determined that yes, it had an actual mattress that was possibly manufactured in the past decade, “so I’m going to assume you’re serious about the bagpipes. But I will assure you, as somebody who has formerly been in a number of very terrible bands—“

“They were different bands?” said George. “I thought it was just the same band with a lot of different names.”

“Some of the time it was,” he allowed. “But there were different bands, and they were all varying degrees of terrible, which means I have created a great deal of unpleasant noise for my neighbours in my time on this Earth. Thus, if bagpipes are the penance I must pay, then I will do so.”

“A noble statement, but I, on the other hand, have committed no crime worthy of such a cruel and unusual punishment.”

“You’re the one who didn’t check before we arrived whether or not we’d be homeless,” Simon pointed out. “Trial run? We can always buy earplugs.”

“Fine,” said George. “We’ll take the apartment. And you’re having the bedroom right above the bagpiper.”

For the first two nights, this wasn’t a concern. Simon lay awake – the tag in his hastily-bought t-shirt was scratchy and kept tickling him just as he was dropping off – and considered the state of affairs. They had an apartment with no mould, no visible creatures living there apart from themselves, and no obligation to do push-ups in the morning. Clary kept sending him pictures via WhatsApp, some of them involving Izzy, who seemed to have forgiven him for dumping her and leaving the country, and Rebecca was already talking about plans to come and stay next summer vacation.

Things were pretty good, especially as the bagpiper seemed to be on holiday and things were blissfully quiet. Almost too quiet – he wasn’t used to so little traffic. No sirens, for a start. What kind of town didn’t have sirens blaring at all times of night?

Maybe emergency services in Scotland didn’t use sirens. He’d have to ask George in the morning – his friend had disappeared into his own room so long ago that if he wasn’t asleep by now, his insomnia was worse than Simon’s.

And there was the thing. Somehow when he confessed to his roommate that he possibly had a romantic interest in him and the two of them abandoned two years of training in favour of starting a new life together in Scotland… well, he wasn’t expecting that to involve separate bedrooms and a life that involved even less cohabitation than it had before.

Which was fine. He was fine with that. He hadn’t been expecting nightly snuggles or – or anything more than that. This whole thing was way too new and confusing for physical affection. But at the same _time_ …

It all just felt kind of platonic. Maybe George didn’t like him back that way. He’d never actually said that he did. Had he? He hadn’t been freaked out by Simon’s declaration, but that didn’t mean he _returned_ it. Maybe he was projecting. Maybe he’d misunderstood the whole thing. A two-bedroom apartment was a pretty obvious sign, right? Especially when George had chosen the room with a bed that was barely more than a single, it was so narrow.

 _Not_ that Simon wanted to share his bed. It was just the principle of the thing.

He stared at the slime-free ceiling and wondered whether there was a non-weird way to talk to his friend about this without veering into his old no-homo bullshit (because he knew that he’d been pulling that too many times, he hated himself every time the words left his mouth).

“Hey, George, I just noticed that we haven’t exactly talked about the whole confession of feelings thing since it happened, and I was wondering if you forgot that I’m horrendously awkward and also having a crisis about my sexuality.”

Nope. Worse than when he was trying to figure out how to tell his mom he was a vampire, and this time Clary wasn’t here to help. Should he Skype her? She’d know what to say. Maybe. But that was pathetic. He could figure this out by himself.

He tried again:

“Not to make this weird or anything, but maybe we should talk about the thing where I told you I liked you because apparently I’m a third-grader with a crush.”

His ceiling remained unresponsive. This wasn’t working.

“George, you have an incredibly sexy Scottish accent but I never get to hear it because you spend all your time in your own room or out in the town visiting old family friends and you won’t introduce me to them. I’m feeling deprived. Come and talk to me.”

Okay, that was just creepy. Simon gritted his teeth, frustrated. They’d lived together for two years! Surely after all that, he’d know how to start an honest conversation? This was pathetic.

“George,” he said, very firmly (he hoped the ceiling didn’t mind being addressed like that), “we still haven’t talked any of this through and it’s beginning to get weird. At least for me. Maybe it’s not weird for you. But. I want to talk about it. And I don’t know where to start, so I figured I would just jump in and let you figure out what to say next.”

“You know,” said George’s muffled voice, “the walls here are seriously thin. I can hear every word you’re saying.”

Simon fell silent and allowed this piece of information to sink in. “You can hear everything,” he said.

“Yup.” He heard a thump, and then George’s footsteps on the wooden floor. A minute or two later, his friend appeared in the doorway. “Every word. Which really makes me worry about the inevitable bagpipes, but also the more pressing issue of you tying your brain up in knots trying to figure out what to say to me.”

“Even the part about your Scottish accent.”

“Even that part.”

“Well, then,” said Simon; he wasn’t sure how much else there was left to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahah pathetic gay nerds (simon and george, not you. although probably you as well, let's be real.)
> 
> come and hang out with me on tumblr! i promise to only call you a pathetic gay nerd if you're okay with that. donn-nimhe. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute gay fluff. First kisses. That kind of thing.

George sat on the edge of the bed. Simon, unsure whether this would improve the situation or make it worse, scooted over slightly towards the wall, widening the gap between them.

“I’m not good at this whole discussing-feelings thing,” he said.

“I get it,” said George. “I do. I thought you – well, you were freaking out, having a crisis about your sexuality. I thought it would be best if I left you to figure it out. I was trying to give you some space.”

“I appreciate that,” said Simon; he did, he really did. “I panicked. I thought you were … I don’t know what I thought.”

“If you’ve really been missing my voice that much, I could read you a story or something. Help you get to sleep.” There was a mischievous twinkle in George’s eye, but he didn’t sound entirely like he was joking, which was … definitely weird. Simon was mentally categorising everything into ‘weird’ and ‘not weird’ these days, and more things belonged in the former than in the latter.

This was bearing in mind that they’d spent two years living in a crumbling mouldy building learning how to kill demons, a fact which had long ago shuffled over the line into ‘not weird’ purely by virtue of familiarity.

“Thanks, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said, after way too long a pause. “Look, I didn’t want to make things awkward between us. That’s why I didn’t mention this – before. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up at all. You didn’t have to drop everything and run away with me.”

George sighed. “You want the truth? I was scared to Ascend too.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d given it up _just_ for me.”

“No, listen. I was scared to Ascend but I figured I had nothing to lose. Until you pointed out that this world and the people in it can still endlessly surprise me. Then I thought that I’d given two years too many to a room full of slime when we could have been living, and there was no way I was going to risk losing the rest of it. I’m not saying you gave me a reason to live, because that’s melodramatic and a huge over-exaggeration, but you definitely made me see the value of living a mundane existence.”

“Oh.” Simon should know what to say now. There should be a – a rousing speech (no, not rousing, that sounded wrong, bad choice of words). There should be something he could say that would sound passionate and honest and real but he was utterly lost for words. Finally, he managed to spit out, “You like me too?”

His friend just stared at him. “You _idiot_ , Simon,” he said. “You think I’d run away to Scotland with you if I didn’t like you?”

“But do you like _like_ me?”

“How old are you?”

“Honestly, that’s a complicated question. By Shadowhunter rules I’m technically…”

George leaned over and kissed him.

Simon’s brain took a moment to process this. George was kissing him. He was being kissed. By George. There was kissing occurring, and it involved him, and George. This was what it felt like to kiss George.

Holy shit.

He knew it had been a slightly clichéd way to shut him up, and he also knew that it would be even more clichéd to ‘passionately return the kiss’ or any of the other bullshit things people did in books and movies, so he took a moment more to process this. Without pulling away. George was a surprisingly good kisser. But he didn’t exactly _return_ the gesture. He might’ve responded to it _slightly._ It was hard not to. But there was definitely no passionate rolling around or anything.

(Oh, shit, that phrasing made him think of Jace. This was definitely getting weird. So weird.)

At last, George sat back, a slightly uncertain smile on his face. “Um. Was that okay?”

“I … think so?” said Simon. “I really have no idea at this stage.”

“Do you want to try again, to see if it helps clarify the issue?”

“Uh.” There was a right answer to this question. He just wasn’t sure what it was. Clary would know. Clary always knew things like that, but Clary wasn’t here, and Simon’s brain seemed to have jammed. George kissed him. And he hadn’t run away. He’d actually quite – well he wouldn’t say he’d _liked_ it, but he hadn’t _disliked_ it. In fact, he’d probably say it was enjoyable.

“I think possibly,” he said, with the laborious care of somebody who wasn’t fully in control of their cognitive functions, “I am not as straight as I always believed.”

George’s grin widened. He had so many teeth. Had he always had so many teeth? “Oh really?”

“Yes,” said Simon. “And moreover I think that you are…” He trailed off. “You are…”

“I am?”

“You’re making me lose my train of thought,” he said.

“Your train of thought needs some engineering works,” replied George.

“Possibly. Possibly it needs to be taken out of service.” As did the metaphor that they were dragging out for way too long. Simon knew only one thing, and that was that since talking was so difficult, he’d rather not do it anymore. “I think we should try it again,” he said. “The … kissing thing.”

“You do?”

“But I want to do it this time.”

“I’m fairly sure you were involved last time.”

“Not enough.” Simon rearranged his limbs so that he was in a slightly more dignified position, and immediately forgot how bodies work. Where should he put his hands? Did he have to purse his lips? He felt like a third-grader again. He wasn’t even sure he knew _how_ to kiss. But he’d kissed people before, right? He’d kissed Izzy, and maybe others, even if he didn’t remember them, and surely his body would remember it, and – and – and…

“You’re staring at me,” said George. “A lot of staring is happening, and not a whole lot of kissing. I know my face is wonderful, and I’m glad you’re taking time to appreciate it, but…”

“Shit,” said Simon. “I’ve forgotten how to kiss.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I haven’t. But also I sort of have. Where are my hands meant to go?”

“Wherever you want them to,” said George, and leaned forward slightly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to start?”

“I’m sure,” answered Simon, although he wasn’t. “Maybe this would be easier if I’d had something to drink.”

“I’m trying very hard not to be offended by that. You do realise how that sounded, don’t you?”

“It’s not – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s not _you._ I’ve just … never done this before. As far as I remember. It’s possible there’s stuff people aren’t telling me about the life I had before and I guess having turned down the chance to Ascend I’ll never find out, but as far as I know this is all … new.”

“It’s not that different, Si,” said George. “I can put on a dress if it’d make you feel better.”

“It’s not that.”

“Isn’t it? Would you be having a crisis if I was a girl?”

“Right now, probably. I just … don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I should have done this.” He was fidgeting, snatching at the sheets with rapidly grasping fingers. George grabbed his hands and held them still.

“It’s okay, Simon,” he said. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Kissing can wait.”

“I don’t _want_ it to wait,” he burst out, and suddenly he remembered what to do. He leaned forward, and kissed George, and it was even better when he was initiating it. His brain was still struggling to process the idea but what the hell, who needs to think while they’re kissing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blergh romance. i'll go back to the bagpipes soon ;)
> 
> find me on tumblr: donn-nimhe


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bagpipes! And some messages from Clary.

Simon supposed the bagpipes were inevitable.

After two years at the Academy, a wake-up call at 8am shouldn’t have been too much of a shock. It was practically a luxurious lie-in. Even in their slimy dungeon of a room, though, said wake-up call didn’t consist of an earsplitting noise noodling around above a drone that in itself felt like it was causing Simon’s skull to vibrate out of his skull.

It was a horrendous, unbearable, magnificent din, and when he could think again he turned to George and said, “I want some.”

Then he realised that, since George was barely awake and also _in his bed_ (what had happened there? They must have fallen asleep after all the talking and – kissing, all the kissing), this was a little bit nonspecific and might have been taken the wrong way.

“I want bagpipes,” he clarified. “I want to learn to play the bagpipes.”

George pulled a face and then shouted, “I can’t hear a word you’re saying over this noise.”

Right. Well, probably not the best moment to bring it up anyway.

He pulled on his slippers and shuffled into the kitchen. The noise was definitely quieter in there – true to his word, George had made sure Simon’s bedroom was the one immediately above the bagpiper’s practice area. From a distance, it was an even more exciting noise. Clary was right, she’d be able to hear him practising all the way from wherever the hell she was these days. Idris? He couldn’t even remember what had been on the itinerary. She could be on a romantic cruise with Jace for all he knew, although he had a vague idea that Jace’s idea of romantic involved weapons and disturbing family ancestry.

What was the best way to bring George around to the idea of bagpipes becoming a more major part of Simon’s life? He looked around the kitchen. Coffee? They had about eight types of coffee, and half a dozen of tea, too. Making up for lost time. Or maybe bacon. Did George like bacon? All that time trying to stomach Academy food, he wasn’t even sure what his friend liked to eat when he had the choice.

Friend. Was that the right word? Did they need to start quantifying this? ‘Boyfriend’ just… didn’t sound right. It wasn’t a word Simon had ever associated with somebody he’d …

He trailed off. Too complicated. Definitely had to wait until after coffee, and then until after breakfast, and then probably until after the next few months of his life.

George came into the kitchen a moment later, wearing a hideous pair of earmuffs and what could best be described as an exasperated expression. “I warned you,” he said. “That’s why no one else wanted to live here.”

“Are you kidding?” said Simon, but it became apparent that George couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote in block capitals _ARE YOU KIDDING? THE BAGPIPES ARE AWESOME_

“Okay,” said George, reading this. “You’re officially mental. Good to know.”

The piper downstairs paused – possibly for breath, since there was no way he had any left after that. “I’m serious,” said Simon. “I want to learn to play the bagpipes.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“And then I want to start a band. With the bagpipes. I want to play the bagpipes in a band and I want to give it a ridiculous name that possibly involves haggis. What is haggis? I keep hearing about it but I’m still not entirely sure what it is.”

“Sheep’s offal,” said George mildly, and Simon lost his interest in haggis, possibly forever.

“Fine, no haggis. But I want to play the bagpipes.”

Their downstairs neighbour started playing again. George flinched, and Simon grinned. “They’re awesome,” he said, though he might as well have mouthed it for all he could be heard over the din, and carried on making coffee.

His phone buzzed. He still hadn’t got a Scottish SIM card or whatever it was he needed – he was stuck to using WiFi until that happened, so it was a bit of a surprise actually to get a notification. Unlocking it, he saw a message from Clary.

_Magnus said he dumped you guys in the middle of a field or something. Have you found your way out yet?_

It had been sent in the early hours of the morning, presumably last thing at night for Clary. Time zones. What a weird concept. _Ha ha,_ he wrote back. _All settled in an apartment. No sheep, but bagpipes._

He wasn’t expecting a prompt reply, so it was a surprise when the little ellipsis appeared, and then Clary’s response: _Yours?_

_Not yet. Our downstairs neighbour._

_Poor George._ She followed this up with a selfie of herself and Jace, some kind of European historic backdrop behind them. That explained why she was still awake.

 _Romantic vacation?_ he wrote.

 _Breakfast in Milan to make up for our last date turning into a scene of carnage and brutality,_ she wrote back. _I think Jace feels bad. Don’t tell him I said it was kind of fun._

Simon smiled, and sent back his own selfie, with George in the background, his hands over his ears and a pained expression on his face. _He’s not keen on the bagpipes_ , he said. _Calls himself a Scot._

Clary was silent for a while, and he was about to put his phone down and get on with the day when it finally buzzed. _Are things… good between you guys? I mean, is everything going okay?_

 _We’ve lived together for two years, Clary,_ he said.

 _I know that,_ she wrote back. An emoji that was probably meant to indicate exasperation; it didn’t display properly on Simon’s phone. _But this is a big deal. This whole ‘run away to Scotland’ thing. You’re not regretting it, are you?_

Maybe it was just as well this was the first conversation he’d had with her since they arrived – he wasn’t sure what answer he’d have given yesterday. But Simon didn’t have to think for more than a second before he wrote, _The only thing I regret is that none of you guys are here and honestly, I’ve probably seen enough of your faces to last me a good few months yet._

_You think you’re hilarious._

_Hell yeah, I’m hilarious._ Simon smiled fondly at his phone, and the bagpipes from the apartment below finally stopped, allowing him to hear George asking what was making him grin like an idiot.

“Clary,” he said. “She thinks you’re failing to appreciate the bagpipes, and has utter faith in my ability to master them.”

“She does not,” said George.

“No, she doesn’t. I’m pretty sure she’d tell you to run far, far away, but I’m not going to give her the opportunity.” He looked back at his phone, at the last message Clary had sent: _Gotta go, Jace is giving me puppy dog eyes. Not literally. Though I wouldn’t put it past him._

 _Have fun. Keep the puppies away from him._ Simon pushed his phone across the counter and looked across at George: “What’s for breakfast?”

“That depends whether you can be bothered to cook anything.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then, muesli.”

“On second thoughts,” said Simon, rifling through the fridge, “I’m making eggs. Why does muesli even exist? Peoples, love yourselves. Life is too short for that.”

George watched his feeble egg-scrambling attempts for a while, and then said, “Are we going to talk about last night at any point?”

“Presumably,” said Simon. “But I’m quite enjoying the whole repressing-feelings thing right now. Maybe we could just continue being confused and failing to express our emotions for a while.”

“Sounds good.” They regarded the frying pan together. “Do you need some help there?”

“Yes,” said Simon gratefully, handing him the spatula. “Yes, I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said we needed less romance and more bagpipes; I delivered. Come and say hi on Tumblr! donn-nimhe


End file.
